Chapter 141
Charles might have also expected Wesley to meet her at the door to their bedchambers—Charles had a particularly uncomfortable sense of humor sometimes—but Eleanor did not. She cringed back as he loomed over her.
Even in the days after his best friend and partner had died, when Eleanor was plagued by headache and heart pains, Wesley could not seem to keep his voice down. There was something lacking in his respect, she thought, a little waspish.
“Thought you might need some support, today of all days,” Wesley said, offering his arm and she truly could not be so mannerless as not to take it. She let the merest weight of her fingers brush his arm, trying to tell herself that Wesley meant well, that he was grieving, the same as they all were, the loss of Charles, of a great man.
He escorted her down to the parlor, although she’d thought to have a cup of tea first, to settle herself, but…
She sighed. Surely, she was overreacting.